The Woman
by Fortyfive stars
Summary: HHr. Harry's married to Ginny, and neither of them are happy anymore. It's all because of Hermione's death, of course. R&R, please although I hate to beg.


Um, well... I don't really know. I have a lot more ideas I would have liked to work into it, but in all honesty I'm just too lazy. So, anyway, it was just a thought. Oh, and the song is Hallelujah, by Rufus Wainwright and I'm sure you all recognise it as the soundtrack from Shrek. I included parts of it because I listened to it when this was born.  
Oh, and you know I don't own a thing.

**The parts in bold** are what really happened - it is not told to the child however, goodness! _And the parts in italics_ are thoughts. Sorry about it being so short but then on second thought, many might be grateful for that ;D

- - -

**I've heard there was a secret chord  
that David played and it pleased the lord  
But you don't really care for music, do you?**

"Mommy," the little girl begged, "please, just one more time." She was up on her knees under the pink covers,  
hands outstretched in a pleading gesture as a supplicant before a queen. (It stirred things in Ginny that she would have preferred  
to keep buried.) She was also five, and uncannily good at asking uncomfortable questions.  
"No."  
"You're not supposed to say that!"  
"Oh?"  
"No. You should say 'What?' and I 'The Story!' and then you 'What story?' and then I'll say, 'the time that daddy—"  
"lived with another woman'," Ginny finished. "Yes, love, I know, but I'm not much for ceremony tonight.  
Won't you just let mommy and daddy tuck you in? Must you hear it tonight when mommy is tired?"

As usual she found it to be disruptive how emotions warred in her; pleasure as her husband's face  
twitched guiltily like it always did at those words, regret that her oldest child should know  
even if she did not understand, sorrow that it had happened, anger. The unpleasant feeling  
of meeting fondness instead of the passionate love that had been.

"Yes!" the child cried at once, "I really must!"  
"Sssh Kitten," Harry admonished gently, "you'll wake your brothers." His daughter's name really was Celia,  
but everybody called her Kitten. It also seemed that no one could quite remember why when she asked,  
but in truth it was only for the prosaic reason that her mother's animagus form was as a cat.  
"But please…"  
"Well, daddy can tell it to you." Ginny said lightly and pulled her daughter into her embrace.  
A common cruelty, that. Make him relive it.  
Harry glanced at her; a short but significant few seconds. To tell her he saw her little play and the reasons behind it.  
"There once was a king, a queen and a little princess, just a few months old…" he began.

**It goes like this, the fourth, the fifth  
the minor fall, the major lift  
the baffled king composing Hallelujah  
Hallelujah, hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah**

How had Celia ever got hold of this story? Well, too late to be considerate now.  
Ginny just hoped she herself hadn't accidentally revealed it in some bitter turn of mind.

**He was swimming in a flesh-coloured dream, claimed by a goddess that so many saw  
only as a knowledgeable woman with bushy hair.**

Harry Potter's sin was one he shared with many married men – failure to make allowances  
for changes of plans. Failure to resist the temptation – most of those who commit adultery are madly in love,  
wild with excitement and thrill, or bored in their marriage. Most men who bring their mistresses  
into their own homes when the wife is away are just weak. Hermione Granger's sin  
was not terribly uncommon either – she just wasn't persuasive enough but readily went along.

**Because it felt so good to wrap her legs around him like_ that_, hands pulling at flesh like _this_,  
tongues not merely invading briefly but rather trying to move in for good,  
and _where did he stop she begin?_**

**Of course she had heard Ginny approach. Or maybe not heard but known. Somehow.  
And, right there and then, Hermione thought she'd had enough. So maybe she moved slower  
than even the aftermath of their coupling demanded, maybe she let her limbs linger.  
And then someone was screaming, shoving them apart, pushing him back into the chair,  
attacking with wildly flaying nails and she fled, clothes falling from the pile that had been quickly scrambled together.**

**The next day Harry moved in with her. And they lived happily ever after.**

**Maybe I've been here before  
I know this room, I've walked this floor  
I used to live alone before I knew you**

**Once he had asked her about the time they were caught. Maybe she didn't answer in words  
at first but he read her eyes too well by that time; Harry wasn't entirely sure how he felt about it.  
It was a horrible thing to do, but when the one you love wrongs and then pleads  
for you to not judge, because she was, and is, terrified of how strong her love for you is and what it can make you do... suffice it to say it is hard not to be flattered, and harder to remain wexed. So he buried any objections his conscience might have had. Happily ever after, because there was finally this bliss in his life, the felicity he had lacked.**

**Until, of course, there was that poison. And the image of a former know-it-all stretched out gloriously  
on the floor, panting, legs spread. Her lips drawn back too far, skin grey and black sores  
all over her body bursting, weeping substances that he did not even want to ever consider again.  
And then, not surprisingly, she had died with the unremarkable last words that only he heard,  
and life had gone on and there was a child.  
A poison that acted much like the plague. A very personalized plague – what a clever thing.  
That man-woman-love in his heart had died in the cold aftermath as a bird,  
****winging south in winter only to be surprised by a sudden snowstorm. There was a child, though.**

**I've seen your flag on the marble arch  
love is not a victory march  
it's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah  
Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah**

Ginny had wondered often then, during a dreadfully long year, if they would have children.  
If her daughter, her last treasure, would live and grow up partly with those children; she wondered how she could ever  
tell her daughter that she should have been someone else's. Maybe then she could have grown up in a house where  
both parents were in favour of her, and not just one; Ginny decided that would be another thing  
to split her daughter and possible half siblings apart.  
In a house with Hermione, Harry and children, Celia would be alone. A little. Because she had only one parent there  
and they would have two. Unfair, unfair! Her heart screamed as she pressed the little, sleeping bundle of joy closer to her body.  
The redhead many nights awoke and had to press her face deep,  
deep into the pillow as she shouted her voice raw at the injustice of life.

But now was now, and it was time to shake free of the spell and tuck in her daughter. Their daughter, after all.

Later, in bed, when Harry's hand settled comfortably at the point where hips became thighs and fell asleep,  
she thought about Hermione. Or tried not to, because it was painful in many ways and it led her  
to traitorous '_what if_'-s that would only leave her aching and unsatisfied.

_If Hermione had not died, had Harry returned to her?  
If Hermione had not won Harry from her, would she be unhappy?  
If Hermione hadn't left Seamus and moved in with Harry, had it spared Ginny much worry and grey hairs?  
If Hermione had not died, would she have felt so alone?  
If Hermione had not died, maybe she wouldn't have realised what a fragile love she held for her husband?  
And if Hermione had not died, maybe Ginny wouldn't have had to feel so damn guilty all the time about not always regretting that death._

**Ugh**. And all she was now was pictures and memories, and The Woman in a quite inappropriate bedtime story.

Without her death he wouldn't have gone back. Celia would have been... very regretful  
(and Harry's heart smashed itself readily between the hammer and the anvil at the thought of losing any of the three)  
but even if it had meant letting go of them all he wouldn't have gone back.  
Not that he hated his life. He had three children and loved them heartbreakingly much.  
Ginny - well, there was a world of regret there. Best not to think about it, but he held her in  
a high regard and often wished, no longed, for his private 'what-if's to be true - only he couldn't decide  
on how many of them or even which one of them.

_  
If I had only loved Ginny as Hermione.  
If I had only loved Hermione first.  
If she hadn't died.  
If we hadn't married.  
If she hadn't died, if she hadn't died, ifshehadn'tdieddied_

and from there it usually went in spirals. Harry drew Ginny closer and knew he was lucky - there was domestic bliss here, wasn't there?  
And he loved her, sort of. Just very... impassionately, like the way one loves a dear pet or an old friend.

But he'd never leave her, and she knew it. There was the children, of course. There always was.  
But furthermore, the Boy-Who-Lived was afraid to be alone. If he slipped out of her embrace, to whom would he go?  
Whose warm body would smother his with the familiar smells and sounds,  
who would know his secret broken bone? Nobody.

**Maybe there's a god above  
and all I ever learned from love  
was how to shoot at someone who outdrew you  
And it's not a cry you can hear at night  
it's not somebody who's seen the light  
it's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah  
Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah**

- - -

Erm. Fin. Looking at it, I feel that it's in a not exactly dire but still apparent need of brushing-up. Maybe someday I'll do that, and even add staff. Oh, don't look so frightened. :)

E.


End file.
